


The Waitress

by lexi5421



Category: None - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexi5421/pseuds/lexi5421
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He came in everyday and sat in the same booth. They just new him as "The Regular" and addressed him as such. They gossiped about who he was and why he always came in and sat in the quietest waitress' section. She seemed to open up when she would speak to him and he seemed to live solely for their conversations, only emoting when she was near him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waitress

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fandomless story

Another day,

Another customer,

Another tip.

The normal flow of Marie's day as she twirled through the diner in upstate New York. She was actually anticipating the arrival of her usual customer to liven up her day. Whenever he came in, she always felt like she had drank a cup of coffee; he always seemed to put extra pep into her step. He talked about random things, mostly her and her day. She never knew his name, never knew anything about him, never received less than a fifteen dollar tip from him.

She was serving up a piece of pie when he straggled in, plopping down in his usual seat. She scribbled his order on the note pad and slipped it through the window. He always ordered the same thing everyday. She walked over to his table with a decaf coffee, two sugars, one cream. As she set it in front of him and took a seat, she smiled. He always came in, scribbling into a notebook. He finished his thought and looked up, grinning widely at the blonde.

“Marie.” He spoke quietly, intimately, as if she was the only one that mattered or even existed, though they were in a crowded restaurant.

“Nice to see you too, Mr. Regular.” She slid his coffee towards him a bit more. “Don't let it get cold, now.” He did as he was told, sipping the light brown coffee.

She stood and made her rounds, eventually bringing his breakfast as it was ready. She stopped by whenever she had a chance, making small talk and refilling his coffee as he continued to scratch away at the lined paper.

When she returned from running dishes to the back, she went to go give him his bill. He had gotten up to go to the restroom and left his things there. She set the ticket on the table, prepared to wander away until he returned. Her eyes were caught by the closed notebook sitting near the edge of the table. Her fingers moved along the cover to the edge and flipped it open. 

The lines of the portrait were amazing. The shading under the muse's cheekbones and her eyes was like looking in a mirror. She flipped another page, a poem about a girl who served him butterflies that flew through his stomach everytime he looked at her. 

He stood behind her, leaning on the booth and watching her reactions as she read through the poems and stories about “The Waitress.”

“Do you like them?” He asked, causing her to jump. She spun around, her cheeks tinged a deep red.

“I am so sorry.” She shut the cover of the notebook, grabbing his empty plates. She scuttled off, embarrassed about being caught. When she returned to the table to pick up the bill, she saw the ticket on top of the notebook. As she got closer, she saw the tip of a hundred dollar bill poking out.

She looked around, assuming he forgot it. When he didn't return. She fipped to the page previously bookmarked by the bill.

“My Waitress,

You have made my mornings brighter. Everyday I come in and see your smiling and radiant face and the world seems to be lighter. I have unintentionally fallen in love with you. You have ensnared the tangled love and affections of a complete stranger. I wasn't exagerating when I said you served me a plate of butterflies that fly around my stomach when I see you. After listening to your stories about your life, I know you are the kind of person who deserves to be told everyday how beautiful and perfect you are. You have 78 college ruled pages that will do exactly that. In a few months, you can have another. If you would allow me, I would write you these notebooks until the day I die.

Sincerely,   
Your Regular.”

She used the hundred dollar bill to pay for his meal, though it was only twelve dollars and eighty-four cents. She threw the rest into the tip share with the other girls.

As she arrived to work the next morning and nine thirty rolled around, she heard the ding of the bell over the door and looked up to see her regular.

He sat in his usual seat and took out a new notebook, labeled 2, and began to sketch. She carried te coffee to his table with a piece of paper. She left the two there and wandered to the kitchen where she loaded a tray to deliver to a table.

When he unfolded the slip of paper, he recognized his own face, drawn to perfection.

“My Regular,

You can write these notebooks until the day you die, but only if you live the rest of your life letting me learn about you as you have taken the time to learn about me.

Sincerely,  
Your Waitress.”


End file.
